Where Last Words Wait For You To Fall
by Chyme for the Rhyme
Summary: To be a living sword, is to allow selfishness to chip at the edge of his blade. But still, Shichika cannot regret the decision he made.
The night is noisy, filled with the swish of Togame's feet as they cut open ripples and break the reflections of the surrounding lanterns into struggling stars; Shichika watches these feeble lights as they bob like boats, struggling against the surrounding black of the water as it grasps hungrily at the trailing ends of Togame's robes. And perhaps also, it licks at the edges of his hair. From his vantage point on Togame's lap, he can see, no, can _feel_ pieces of it falling heavily upon the water like a crust of bread, weighed down with a chill that drags instead of lifts.

It is almost, he thinks, like being back at Konayuki's mountain, ankles, and then legs, pulled down by the snow and it's all encompassing temperature. The memory, even now, does not embarrass him. It is in his nature, after all, to be felled by something that shines as prettily, and with the same whiteness, as Togame's hair.

...Which he can't see from where he is now. No, his gaze is being turned to the side, into the water, as Togame's fingers press him down into the scent of her thighs, her palms skimming over his hair, each motion causing a spark of pleasure that seems, to Shichika, to disturb the very air.

'You should eat more,' she says. 'You look like a skinny beggar instead of a mighty warrior. It's inconvenient for me, you know, when people stare at you and point at the bones sticking up from beneath your skin. It makes me look like a selfish master.'

Shichika smiles. 'You are a selfish master.'

Not a trace of fear runs through him when she brings her fist down on his forehead in protest. He can, after all, remember a time when she chose to hit harder, much, _much_ harder.

'Cheerio!' she declares. 'Enough of that sort of talk! It was my fault for bringing up such gloomy things, I'll admit, but now, we should look to the future! Where should we go next?'

Shichika's smile fades. They've long since exhausted the country of its beaten tracks and hardly visible trails. They've dived down alleyways, as well as main streets, touched food that Shichika has never had to prepare with his own hands and repeated this pattern again and again, enough for the months to spill into years, to form an unending stream of memories that on bad days, he has to work hard to separate into chunks. It has been happy. But also very, very sad.

'I built you a house,' he tells her, 'a few years back, remember? We could stay there for a while, maybe?' And he hates how hope makes his voice lilt, lifting it up into a question.

'That was twenty years ago, Shichika.'

'Ah,' he sighs. 'The future is such a hassle. I'm sorry, but I think you've brought up another gloomy subject.'

To her credit Togame's fingers do not falter. They continue to bear down against his skull, carving the imprint of their delicate whorls into his hair. Electricity courses down Shichika's spine at the thought that another person, a lesser person, would have stopped by now.

Togame bends over, low enough for her voice to press against his ear. Dimly, Shichika can make out the white of her hair falling down into his eyes like an additional fringe, the rest of its shape etched further out upon the surface of the water. The reflection is deceptive, like a pearl, each curve echoing the bend in her skull. If he concentrates, he can make out a shimmer of grey lurking down beneath the ends of her hair and darting out between its lines, tucking down over the curve of his own skull.

Togame shifts, mindful as always, of the metal lodged inside her chest, sending sparks ricocheting down into her heart. It has made movement between the two of them difficult at times, even something as simple as a kiss requiring the compromise of pushing her chest back, away from his own. Even now, after everything, his fingers hesitate to reach up and touch her face, fearing the sword that possibly bars his path.

'Shichika,' she says, but the word is a sigh, something long-pressed and suffering drawn across his name. 'Perhaps it is time to end it. I only ever intended my name to last down through the ages, and even that has gone astray. This body is meant, like all others, to return to dust. It should have done so years ago.'

Her hand moves, finds his own. And, tightly pressing his wrinkled fingers against the smooth, uncluttered lines of her own, she raises them up, forcing them to touch the hilt.

'Rip it out,' she spits out eagerly. 'Yank it free! I am not afraid. We shall both leave with honour.'

With an effort, he rips his hand free.

'No,' he says shortly. And then allows his hand to drop.

Togame is quiet. But despite the blurred vision, despite the fall of her hair, Shichika can feel the burn of her eyes, can visualise the purple cross that is nursed within the hold of her left one. Adorned with it, her face will look furious, its youthful lines fixated into a frown.

'For the first time, you are a coward,' she hisses.

Shichika doesn't care. He has seen too many deaths at the hands of honour to sacrifice the woman he loves to it.

'There are many people who can tug that sword out,' he says tiredly, 'wait till after I'm dead. Sword usually outlast their masters, but you had the misfortunate to pick a living one for your own. That means that sometimes you have to put up with my selfishness.'

She is quiet.

Dimly, across the surface of the pond, Shichika can make out a line of his hair, white as her own. It has taken years to catch up to the exact hue, turning first grey before slipping into a weathered –down version of chalk. But now, finally, they match. Or maybe his eyes are just old enough to play tricks on him.

'Togame,' he asks, 'what colour is my hair?'

She brushes a finger against his fringe.

'An unsightly one,' she replies.

Such a hassle, thinks Shichika, but takes the reply quietly, recognising it for the punishment it is. Because one day, very soon from now, he will be unable to receive them anymore.

Akutō Bita, it seems, has seen to that.

* * *

Notes: I don't really believe Akutō Bita could immortalise someone the way I've depicted it here. But I remember how, when the eleventh episode first aired, there was a blog reviewer who theorised that maybe Shichika would find some way to revive Togame with its regenerative power. Even if that was the case, I'm not convinced it would have worked; Togame died mainly from blood loss after all, not to mention whatever internal damage the bullets wrecked within her guts.

And Bita itself, seems to have been designed to revitalise someone through electricity, to keep their heart pumping no matter what. And that would be kinda difficult to do if there was no longer any blood for said heart to continue pumping through a body.

Either way, you end up perhaps, with this illogical mess. I'm sorry.


End file.
